Bennett Hill: Winter

(Walking alongside this farm is a beautiful introduction to the trails at Bennett Hill.)

In Spring 2017, I promised you that I would follow the seasons at Bennett Hill, a beautiful hiking spot not far from my Albany home. I was inspired by Jackie Donnelly's ongoing in-depth study of her beloved nature spot, Moreau Lake State Park, which she features often in her blog:  https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com.

However, after spring and summer, I had let the idea go, but now I'm back and it's winter!

(Now and then, my snowshoes barely made a dent in the packed wind-blown snow.)

We received 15" of beautiful snow last week.  With heavy rain in the forecast, I was itching to get out in the powder while it lasted.  A perfect sunny cold Tuesday passed me by.  Rain inched closer.  I checked and double-checked the forecast.

On Wednesday, the rain was not supposed to arrive until mid-afternoon.  I gathered up snowshoes and boots and headed out early.  I felt desperate for fresh air and some exertion with beauty on the side.  Bennett Hill was close enough that I hoped to drive there and do the 3-mile loop before sleet and freezing rain made an appearance.

(You mean I have to break my own trail from now on through deep powder?)

The sky was dark.  Freezing rain hit my windshield as I drove the short distance.  Ice creeped in from the edges and I turned on the defrost.  This was not fair!  It was far too early in the day for rain (according to my authority weather underground, wunderground.com). I was glad it stopped as I pulled into the small parking area at Bennett Hill.

(This tree was made for sitting, but I'll just admire it this time.)

Wind had howled around my house the previous night and it apparently had here also.  Amidst the softer snow, hard patches of trail showed where the wind had banked the snow into concrete.  I didn't mind; being able to walk on top of the snow for a short stretch offered an easy, if sporadic, change from the powder.

I passed a woman coming down the trail as I was going up.  We talked about the impending rain and discussed ski tracks visible alongside the snowshoe trail.  Skiing here would take some skill between the trees.

(Can't you imagine an otter sliding down the hill from the left and doing some aerials, as if on a ski jump, as he flies off to the right?)

I kept a steady pace as the trail climbed.  I needed some sturdy exercise.  I worry that, if I turn into a slug during the winter, I won't be able to hike well in the summer, and I want to continue my hiking career for a long time.  Besides, winter is one of two seasons, along with fall, when I feel at my best physically.

(Wind has been the story of our 2018-2019 winter so far, making swirls around the trees.)

Apparently, the hiking gods heard my plea for exercise, because I hadn't snowshoed too far when the tracked trail ended.  Others before me had turned around and gone back. Even the ski tracks vanished into the woods.  My work was cut out for me, for sure.  Breaking trail in deep snow is not easy!

Suddenly, I felt alone and was reminded of all those ranger reports I read where people get hurt and are often not prepared to wait for help in the cold.  This is not a mindset that I usually feed into.  Clearly, I had been reading too many DEC reports and quickly passed off these thoughts!

(All this view needs is Santa and his reindeer crossing the sky at night: "the children were nestled all snug in their beds," "Mamma in her 'kerchief and I in my cap" )

The summit of Bennett Hill is a reward in any season.  I like the way the trail curves around the low vegetation to the view over the hamlet of Clarksville.  In winter, Clarksville looks like a Christmas village below with streets making lines between the white, and rooftops covered in snow.

But...just as I came to the viewpoint, freezing rain pelted my face and pinged on my jacket in defiance of the forecast.  In minutes, it stopped.  I wasn't any the worse for wear, but, really, what's the deal, wunderground?

(This summit birch tree is a favorite of mine.)

I paid more attention to natural elements, taking winter pictures of the places I had photographed for my spring and summer blog posts back in 2017. I enjoyed being the first person, except for woodland animals, to make tracks in this snow.  The summit was a clean white landscape, without the needles blown by the wind littering the landscape as they had farther down the hill.

(So many small fungi decorate this tree trunk.)

I had seen deer tracks criss-crossing the snow all the way up, and then I came across this deer bed.   I was tempted to put my hand on the earth to see if it were still warm, since it looked like the deer had recently left, but I knew that in today's temperature, the ground would only have stayed warm for a few seconds. I walked on.

(A perfect deer bed -- recently vacated?)

When I first set out today, I had seen numerous dog tracks on the lower trail.  Those tracks came from hikers' best friends who had been here before me.  But now, higher up where no one had broken the pristine snow with human footprints, I knew that these dog-like tracks belonged to a coyote.  A clue is the way that coyotes put their back paws in the tracks of the front paws, one foot stepping where the other had been. This coyote had been traveling at a relaxed trot.

(Out for a stroll, or hoping for a hunt?)

And what about this mound?  The attractive-meditation-shrine-turned-messy-rock-cairn had to be underneath the smooth white covering.  Perhaps buried stones and sticks provided a cozy winter hibernation nest for someone small. 

(Burial mound for a rock cairn)

And what was that? Blue sky?  Feeble shadows came and went across the forest floor as the sun struggled to break through the dark clouds...until it won with a splash of blue.

(A fabulous surprise!)

Shadows acquired a sharp definition and deepened in contrast to the now bright white.  As I began the descent from Bennett Hill's plateau, my scene changed entirely.

(Sun offers a whole new dimension to the trail.)

I knew I was getting hungry when I saw this log in the woods and was reminded of a roll of cake with white buttercream frosting.  I began to think about what I would have as a snack on my way home.  A tiny grocery would be a nearby shopping option.  My longtime favorite lunch of an apple and cheese awaited me at home, but I longed for something sweeter.

(Twinkie?)

How different the farm scene looked in the sun compared to it's dark appearance when I had arrived.  But even as the sun glistened in the foreground, the sky and hills beyond grew dark.  I was glad I was almost to the car.  I had had enough brushes with freezing rain and preferred to carry the burst of blue sky and sunshine home with me.

(Two moods on the farm.)

It had taken me two hours to hike Bennett Hill, longer than usual.  Breaking trail in deep powder had slowed me down, but I felt good.  I had breathed deep and worked hard. 

The car seemed drawn to snack options on my way home.  I prefer ice cream sandwiches made with two chocolate chip cookies and vanilla ice cream, which I didn't find in the case today, but I bought the next best thing and it tasted pretty good.  That apple and cheese wouldn't be too bad when I got home, either.
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Here are links to my Spring and Summer 2017 blog posts about Bennett Hill:
https://nooksandvales.blogspot.com/2017/04/bennett-hill-spring.html
https://nooksandvales.blogspot.com/2017/08/bennett-hill-summer.html

Bennett Hill: Spring

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
                    -- Robert Frost













I am inspired by Jackie Donnelly, a friend and author of the blog
http://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/
Jackie describes trip after trip to Moreau State Park, near her home in Saratoga, chronicling changes that she sees as she enjoys one of her favorite places in all seasons.

My current favorite is Bennett Hill, just southwest of Albany.  It's a place to share with friends and family, but is even more special when I go alone. With only 3 miles of trail and 400 feet of elevation gain, it works well for a stroll, rather than a workout; an opportunity to soak in quiet beauty, and return home refreshed.

This blog post is my first in a year of seasons at Bennett Hill.  I hope to share this little oasis with you, beginning now with Spring.

I have a couple of appointments in the morning, but have my hiking boots and my camera with me, under the presumption that I will also visit Bennett Hill on this perfect spring day.  My appointments run late, and I debate whether I should stick with my plan.  I have other things to do, including considerable computer work, and an evening meeting. But the sun beckons and I am eager to begin my story of this Mohawk Hudson Land Conservancy location today.

The trail begins on an old road.  To the right are farms; to the left, woods.  Walking alongside pastureland, with cows nearby, is a treat.  Hikes in the forest rarely begin like this.

The trail rises, narrows, and becomes enclosed in hardwood forest.  I hear only the distant lowing of cows, bird calls, the hammering of a woodpecker on a hollow tree, and the whir of farm machinery far away.  This is as close to silence as I desire.





















Bennett Hill is not wilderness.  A tub in the middle of the trail usually shocks the first-time hiker.  Rusty and lined with rotting leaves, it provides a frame for spring water.  The spring comes out of limestone and shale, flows through the pipe, and makes a continuous cascade into the tub and out a hole at the other end.  Nothing is higher than this spring on the hill, so I assume that the water is pure.  I scoop a few handfuls for a cold drink.

The path breaks off into a loop that will encircle the summit plateau.  A sprawling oak tree, with a horizontal branch, is perfect for sitting.  One time a young couple asked me to take their picture as they sat on it side-by-side.  It is the largest tree in this young forest.

The hardwoods turn to soft, as the trail enters a stand of pines.  Needles cover the ground.  At 68 degrees, the day is warm for mid-April, but welcome.  Still, the sun's intensity is always a surprise in early spring, when leaves on the trees are tiny or scarce. The pines offer a cooling shade.






















I ramble, slow and deliberate, taking in the sounds and silence, and eventually reach the summit of Bennett Hill.

An opening in the trees provides a view of Meadowbrook Farm, which sells milk to our local co-op in glass bottles.  I buy the lowfat version, although still rich and creamy.

A second opening looks across to the Helderbergs with tiny Clarksville below.  Most of Albany County is very rural.  I'm glad that I can leave my urban neighborhood and be here in just 20 minutes.

Spanning the view of Clarksville, I am impressed with how the land flattens to the Hudson Valley. I find a stump to stand on and can see east as far as the Empire State Plaza and beyond.  The atmosphere is very clear.  How could I have considered not coming here this afternoon?

Walking through the young growth on the plateau is one of my favorite parts of this hike.  The ground covers are still mostly brown, but I know they will frame the path with lush green in a month or two.

In the meantime, I can appreciate the stark white birches and the yellow green of moss.  I remember that Jackie always writes about plant-life in her blog.  Just this week, she pictured wild flowers opening with these few warm days.  I haven't seen any wildflowers, but I do like this carpet of moss.

I decide that I should look for wildflowers. They must be here.  I spend more time studying the ground, but my eyes gravitate upward.  I am drawn to the views of the ridge, that would not be visible once leaves are on the trees; and the way the path hugs the side of the hill pleases me.

I am disappointed, however, to see what has happened to a little gathering of stones that I had once called a woodland altar.  A few years before, someone carefully arranged a half-dozen little stones, a plank of bark, and bits of leaves and moss.

Recently, the arrangement changed into a cairn, with stones set at angles and balanced in different sizes.  Although I missed the altar, the cairn was okay, but what was this?  A pile of rocks and a teepee of wood as if ready for a bonfire? 

From here, I begin the descent.  Now, I am searching in earnest for wildflowers.  Against current tick-prevention wisdom, I go off the trail, follow a tiny stream through a ravine and see no flowers.  I do hear the pounding of woodpecker creating lots of noise in a very dead tree.  Once again I look up. I hope to spy the tell-tale red of a pileated woodpecker.  My eyes and ears scan the branches following the loud hollow sound.  And then I see it, a little downy woodpecker making all that noise. 

I walk back to the trail.  Although I have not worn my gaiters, which are infused with tick repellent, I did spray the bottom of my pant legs with a mixture of essential oils made specifically to ward off the insects.  I stray off the trail again, and what do I see? Trout lilies in yellow clusters!  My first wildflowers of the day!

As I get closer to the bottom of the hill, I walk through leaves and open woods for a better look at a group of heifers enjoying the new grass and sunshine.

In the brown leaves at my feet, I am greeted by the pure white petals of bloodroot.  Two different wildflowers on this day!  I'm convinced that I have not missed others.  Maybe a naturalist like Jackie, with her eagle eye, would have found found more, but I'm satisfied.
















To finish off my adventure, a spring azure butterfly flits across the trail in front of me.  This butterfly is often mistaken for the famous Karner Blue that is protected in the Albany Pine Bush.  Without celebrity status, the spring azure is a picture of blue brilliance against the still-brown ground.

And what about that waa-waa racket I hear above?  Have I finally found my pileated woodpecker? A red head peers out of a hole in the tree, just below a fungus roof.

To the sound of mooing cows, I reach my car.  I have not seen anyone all afternoon.  I am aware, though, that I have not been cautious enough about ticks. When I volunteered at the Pine Bush, I picked up three or four ticks every time I walked there.  I would drive the few miles to my house and see one walking up my pants leg, or crawling out from the cuff on my shirt onto my wrist.  I learned to strip before I got in the car.

Now, I use my car a a shield to potential passers-by, and take my shirt off.  Turning it inside out, I look closely for ticks.  Then I turn it right side out and do the same thing, checking my skin as well.  After putting it back on, I repeat the exercise with my pants and socks.  It's a pesky ritual, but lyme disease is worse.

I find no ticks, am fully dressed, and drive home through Clarksville, past forsythia in full bloom and the babbling Onesquethaw Creek.  I will be back to soak up the quiet and beauty of Bennett Hill on another perfect day.